War within the family: politics and diplomacy

First, we have to conclude that the lack of success was not the result of lack of ruthlessness. The terrorization of the civilian population did not begin with the invention of strategic bombing in the twentieth century, but was probably a standard element of warfare as far back as we have records of it.

My soul all but leaves me when I think about it. There was no security in convents or other holy places... In those three days they inflicted every kind of torment on the wretched inhabitants, men and women, to force them to reveal the hiding place of their money and valuables. Every dishonourable violence was used on women, and throughout the city, day and night, one heard nothing but the most wretched cries of the miserable. or of women resisting those who were trying to rape them. Day and night, I would see nothing but desperate gentlemen and citizens, stripped of their clothing, tied, beaten on their genitals, placed with their feet over fire, with bits of wood driven into their teeth or having their mouths poked into with a stick or a knife above the tongue. until, unable to talk or using signs, they would show themselves ready to disclose the places of their hidden valuables.

Another eyewitness adds:

A number of priests were burned alive. The nobleman Cristoforo Guaineri had his arms cut off and died on burning coal.

On the other hand, there are the norms of chivalry between the princes and leaders.

Froissart ends his colourful and dramatic account of the Battle of Poitiers with an idyllic scene:

That evening the Prince of Wales gave a supper for the King of France and most of the captured counts and barons. The king and the most prominent French nobles were placed at a high table, ‘lavishly provided’. The prince himself served at the table, ‘refusing to sit down with so mighty a prince and so brave a soldier’. He kneeled before him saying: ‘Beloved sire, do not make such a poor meal, even though God has not been willing to heed your prayers today... In my opinion, you have good cause to be cheerful... for today you have won the highest renown as a warrior.’³⁵

Froissart comments that all who were present thought that the Prince had spoken nobly and to the point. ‘Their esteem for him increased and it was generally agreed that in him they would have the most chivalrous lord and master if he was granted life to go in the same auspicious way.’

Was the Black Prince really so humble or was the scene an attempt to gain even greater glory from his military victory? Or was it simply invented by Froissart?³⁶ In any case, it gives some impression of the medieval and early modern attitude to warfare, on the one hand, the ruthless cruelty to the ordinary civilian population, who had their crops and houses burnt and were tortured and plundered by soldiers, on the other, the idea of a pan-European elite whose members fought one another in a similar way as sportsmen compete today. Froissart is the perfect spokesman for this class, celebrating their military deeds as well as their common values and their respect or even friendship for their adversaries. This chivalrous scene is also an expression of one of Froissart’s central values, which occurs in other passages of his work, including his account of the surrender of Calais.

In 1346—47, Edward III spent a long time and much effort and money on the siege of Calais until the town finally surrendered after ten months. The king’s anger at the stubbornness of his enemies had increased during the siege and he now wanted his revenge. However, his men pleaded with him: the burghers of Calais had only done their duty out of loyalty to their king. If they were to be punished for this, how could Edward expect his men to sustain sieges to defend his towns or castles? Finally, Edward agreed to pardon most of the burghers but still demanded that six of them be delivered up to him for punishment. Six of the wealthiest and most distinguished burghers volunteered to save their compatriots and turned up before the king — the scene has been immortalized in the famous sculpture by Rodin. In the meantime, Queen Philippa, who was pregnant, had arrived. She interceded for the six and finally secured their pardon.

Most probably, Froissart, like other contemporary writers, often exaggerated the chivalry, in this as well as other episodes;³⁷ nor should we forget that the main motive for saving the lives of aristocratic prisoners was to gain ransom from them. Nevertheless, this story, as well as Froissart’s engagement in the question of ethics and chivalry in war, does illustrate an important issue in the period. As we shall see, the traditional rules of chivalry had come under attack in the fourteenth century, in both England and France, regarding internal enemies. However, the same logic would imply that they should continue to be practised towards external ones. The introduction of the laws of treason implied that the rebels had become more than just the king’s personal enemies; they were enemies of the state, represented by the king. At the same time, this meant that enemies outside the country came in a different category: they were not traitors, because they did not owe loyalty to the king of England, but to another king, towards whom they owed the same obliga­tions as his own subjects owed to him.

The rules referred to by Froissart eventually became generally applied. Thus, after the Battle of Poltava, in 1709, the victorious Russians invited the Swedish higher officers to dinner, while at the same time the captive Ukrainians, who were regarded as rebels, were tortured to death.³⁸ Ransom of prisoners continued to be practised but in the eighteenth century, they were regarded as prisoners of the state, not of individual officers or commanders. In some cases, the sums needed for the ransom of prisoners of various ranks were agreed upon between the warring parties, or general rules about the ransom were introduced.³⁹ Eventually, when national armies replaced mercenaries, similar rules were also applied to the civilian population, which was largely protected, while the fighting took place between soldiers in uniform, in accordance with Clausewitz’s principle of ‘true war’.⁴⁰ By contrast, ruthless terror was applied against rebels, as by the English in Scotland in 1746 and in Ireland in 1798 and by the French in Corsica in the 1750s and 1760s. Fortunately for the Americans, the English decided to treat them as lawful enemies during the War of Independence of 1776—83.

This change may have something to do with greater sensitivity to human suf­fering, of which there are also some other examples in the eighteenth century, but practical considerations are probably more important. Wars were fought to con­quer land and the winners wanted to receive them intact, not to have them laid waste by soldiers. Plundering meant that the profit went to the soldiers, while a disciplined army would allow the general and his king to use enemy terrain to finance his war. A prominent example of this is Frederick II’s occupation of Saxony during the Seven Years War (1756—63). Saxony financed around 30 per cent of the Prussian war effort and was ruthlessly exploited.⁴¹ Nevertheless, the Prussian occupation was less harmful than seven years of plundering by a mercen­ary army a hundred years earlier.

The rules of chivalry give the impression of a mutual respect between European rulers that seems to differ from the ruthless competition in China. To what extent did they also determine strategy and tactics? In the autumn of 1524, King Francis I of France had led his army into northern Italy to fight his greatest enemy, Charles V, king of Spain and Holy Roman Emperor.⁴² Two options presented themselves, either to attack the remains of the imperial army in Lodi, which was led by two able generals, but demoralized after a long retreat, short of provisions and hit by disease, or to attack the strongly fortified town of Pavia. Most of Francis’ council­lors recommended the first option, whereas his old childhood friend Bonnivet voted for the second, as this would be the more honourable. Francis was persuaded by him and began the siege of Pavia in October. The city was strongly defended and several direct attacks were repelled. The siege lasted during the winter, with cold and heavy rain. The French generals suggested giving up the siege, but once more Bonnivet appealed to honour and persuaded the king to remain. Then, on 3 February 1525, a Spanish army arrived to relieve Pavia. Francis now had the enemy on both sides, but preferred to remain in the same position. When the relieving army started to move, it was met by the strong French artillery and suffered heavy losses. Francis sensed victory and attacked, followed by his cavalry. However, he was careless, moving in front of his own artillery, which was forced to stop shooting. This turned the battle. The relieving army attacked with arquebuses and soldiers from the garrison attacked from behind. Francis found himself alone between enemy lines. He fought heroically until at last, bloody and half-naked, he delivered his glove to the enemy in sign of surrender.

Technologically, Francis’ army represented a mixture between old and new, as did also the king himself. He was a ruthless player in the political game, allying with Protestants and Turks against Catholic princes, while persecuting the Protes­tants in his own country.

Francis was treated respectfully by his captors, in accordance with his rank, but was closely guarded. The Italian historian Francesco Guicciardini, who at the time held a prominent position in the papal administration, gives a detailed account of the event.⁴³ Learning of the victory, Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor and king of Spain, was of course delighted but showed a praiseworthy moderation for such a young man — Charles was 25 years old at the time, born in 1500. He did not sound the church bells or let the Te Deum be sung, because his victory was over another Christian king. Charles was then faced with the difficult question of how to exploit his victory. Guicciardini constructs a great deliberation scene, with two councillors giving radically different advice. Both agree that there are three different options: (1) setting Francis free without imposing any conditions; (2) setting him free on harsh conditions; and (3) keeping him permanently in captivity with endless negotiations. The Bishop of Osma, Charles’ confessor, argues in favour of the first option, the Duke of Alba in favour of the third. The emperor does not decide immediately, but ponders over the issue. Then Francis is taken ill and seems about to die. Charles has all the time wanted to see him and now decides to do so. A friendly conversation takes place between the two rulers and Francis eventually recovers. Now the advisors tell Charles that he is bound by honour to set Francis free. Charles finds it necessary to respect this, but he also wants to exploit his vic­tory. He therefore forces Francis to sign a peace treaty on strict terms, including the cession of Burgundy and Milan, full control over Artois and Flanders, which at the time were ruled by Charles V but claimed by Francis, and full independence for Charles, Duke of Bourbon, one of the greatest French princes who had rebelled against Francis and fought against him at Pavia. Francis is released but replaced by his two sons, both boys, who will remain in captivity until the peace conditions are fulfilled. Charles’ decision leads to violent protests from most of his councillors, including the grand chancellor, Mercurio di Gattinara, who even refuses to sign the treaty. Most of them do not believe that Francis will keep his promises, which proves correct. Immediately after his release, he got the pope to annul his promises, because they had been obtained by force, formed the League of Cognac together with the pope and some other princes and prepared for war against Charles.

The way Guicciardini renders the episode is characteristic of his pessimistic approach to contemporary politics: politicians act spontaneously and irrationally, instead of analyzing the issue properly and drawing the logical conclusion. It is an open question whether Guicciardini himself favoured the first or the third option, but there is no doubt that he regarded the second as the worst. Guic­ciardini’s account may not be an exact report on what actually happened but gives a glimpse of the complicated negotiations. According to other sources, Francis trusted in his personal charm to get a favourable deal from the younger, less experienced and less impressive Charles V. His journey to Spain became a triumph during which he played on his ability to impress the people he met, so much so that he was put in isolation when he arrived in Madrid, which in turn resulted in his illness.

A modern observer might immediately wonder why Charles’ conditions were regarded as so outrageous. After all, Francis had suffered a crushing defeat and was totally at the mercy of his enemy. If it had been in another place of the world, like China, he might have been executed, but this was of course out of the question in Europe. He was not only kept in honourable and mostly comfortable captivity but most of his kingdom would be intact; in addition to Milan, he only had to give up one province of France, admittedly a wealthy one, which had only fairly recently come under the king’s control. However, Burgundy held a special importance for both princes. It had for a long time been a part of the kingdom of France, although rarely been ruled directly by the king, and had been brought back in the possession of the crown by Louis XI in 1477. It belonged to Charles V’s hereditary lands and formed a part of the principality in which he had grown up and with which he identified more than with any of his many other possessions. An argument in favour of Francis’ point of view was further that Charles had not conquered Burgundy and had no possibility of doing so — he had no money left to pay for an army after the expedition to Italy. Whereas the previous negotiations between the captive John II of France and Edward III of England mainly dealt with areas that the English had conquered or were able to conquer, Charles V now tried to exploit his victory to gain entirely new territories. This seems to have been unusual; the contemporary expectation was that Charles would release Francis in return for a huge ransom.⁴⁴